The True Opera Ghost
by I am the Angel of Music
Summary: COMPLETE! Everyone knows the Phantom of the Opera. Or do they? This is a Phantom with a twistand I wrote it in a week, so r & r! Rated PG13 for language and adult content. Reader discretion advised. Keep your hand at the level of your eyesO. G.
1. The Phantom of the Opera

Her actual name was Christine. However, she had been known for years beyond her own count as "The Phantom of the Opera" or the "Opera Ghost." To her young student, Erik, she was the "Angel of Music." She saw him, now, from her place above the stage of the Paris Opera. He stood with others of the chorus as the new managers were introduced to the leading tenor, Ubaldo Piangi. She leered down at the obese Piangi, hating him, but unable to do anything until the stagehand that stood before her, at his post, moved away. Once he did, she moved forward, checking to make sure he had actually gone.

She truly despised Piangi. His voice, when he sang, made her shudder. He sang now, demonstrating his so-called "talent" to Monsieurs Moncharmin and Richard, who now owned the House. A rope, attached to the scaffolding beside her, held up a piece of scenery directly over Piangi's ugly head. Smirking, she untied it, and watched the wood-and-canvas panel fall. The crowd below looked up in terror, and with a toss of her long hair, she backed into the shadows as stagehands came running. She melted into invisibility, letting her black cloak cover her bare, white arms, and her hair fall forward to hide the brightness of the mask she wore. Shouts were exchanged.

"Buquet! For God's sake, man, what's going on up there?" shouted Monsieur Reyer, the music director.

"Please, monsieur, don't look at me! As God's my witness, I was not at my post!" the man cried back. "Please, monsieur, there's no one there, and if there is, well then, he must be a ghost!"

"Or she," Christine murmured to herself, suppressing a laugh. Satisfied, she climbed up several feet of scaffolding until she was alone, and could watch without being seen—unless, of course, someone looked up.

"Piangi! You cannot leave! Signor, these things do happen!" someone was saying.

"For the past three years, 'these things do happen' and did you stop them from happening? No!" Piangi cried out to the former manager, LeFevre. He rounded upon the new ones. "And you two, you're as bad as him. These things do happen! Until you stop these things happening, this thing _does not happen_!"

Christine did her best not to laugh as the lead tenor strode away. She controlled the urge, but just barely.

"Gentlemen, good luck. If you need me, I shall be in Australia." Monsieur LeFevre clasped hands briefly with the stunned new owners, Firmin Richard and Andre Moncharmin. Just as he left, Madame Giry, mistress of the ballet and one of the very few who knew Christine personally, appeared, holding a note that Christine had given her earlier.

"I have a message for you, monsieurs, from the Opera Ghost," she said.

"Oh, God in heaven, you're all obsessed!" cried Firmin.

"She welcomes you to her opera house…"

"_Her_ opera house?" interrupted Andre.

"…and commands that you leave Box Five empty for her personal use. She also reminds you that her salary is due."

"Salary?"

"Monsieur LeFevre paid her twenty thousand francs a month," explained the ballet mistress. "Perhaps you can afford more, with the Vicomtess deChagny as your new patron?"

"Madame, I had hoped to make that announcement public tonight, when the Vicomtess was to join us for the gala," replied Firmin hastily, "but obviously we shall now have to cancel, as it appears that we have lost our star. A full house, Andre, we shall have to refund a full house!"

"We can't do that! The performance is tonight! We must have an understudy!" Andre cried desperately. Christine leaned forward. This was the time she had been waiting for.

"There is no understudy for Ubaldo Piangi!" Monsieur Reyer replied.

"Erik Daaé could sing it, sir," interjected Madame Giry.

"I have no time for this," Reyer muttered, "but if you insist…"

"He has been well taught, monsieur."

"Really? Who is your teacher?"

There was a pause in which Christine held her breath. Then came the young, soft, mid-toned voice that she knew so well.

"I don't know her name, sir."

"Oh, well, then, get on with it. From the beginning of the aria."

Another pause as the orchestra readied for her student's solo. His voice then filled the air, slightly nervous at first, but gaining strength until Christine had to clutch at the ropes that supported her. She loved the sound of him—Erik, _her_ student, who had come so far in the three short years in which she had been teaching him. His voice intoxicated her still, made her sway with delight when she heard it. He sang.

_"Think of me, think of me fondly, when we've said goodbye!_

_Remember me, once in a while; please promise me you'll try!_

_When you find that once again you long to take your heart back and be free,_

_If you ever find a moment, spare a thought for me!"_

The rest of the day seemed to pass by in a blur for Christine. It seemed not long at all before she was sitting in her own Box Five, watching Erik on the stage, clinging to the arms of her seat with joy.

"_We never said our love was evergreen, or as unchanging as the sea,_

_But if you can still remember, stop and think of me!_

_Think of all the things we've shared and seen!_

_Don't think about the way things might have been!_

_Think of me, think of me waking silent and resigned!_

_Imagine me, trying too hard to put you from my mind!_

_Recall those days, look back on all those times, think of the things we'll never do!_

_There will never be a day when I won't think of you!"_

She applauded with the rest of the audience when the opera ended, but stayed not to see the final curtain call. She must get down to his room before he did—she must leave him a sign of her pleasure in him. As she passed through the various secret doors and tunnels, she plucked a rose from her hair. It was tied with a black ribbon, and the color of scarlet. She laughed hollowly with the morbid sense of humor that she delighted in possessing when she reached the space behind his mirror and went through.

Tonight was the night, she thought to herself, that she would finally appear to him. He had asked her, but she had denied, until now. She placed the rose on the dressing table, and then vanished again within the mirror, just as the doorknob turned and Erik entered.

The first thing he saw was her rose. He picked it up, looking around, and she touched the glass fervently. She opened her mouth to sing then, to entice him with her voice, but she was stopped by a knock on his door. Upset, she shrank back a little.

"Little Erik let his mind wander," said the woman who entered. Erik turned happily to face her. "Little Erik thought, 'Am I fonder of books, or goblins, or damsels? Or of riddles, or horses…'"

"'Those picnics in the attic?'" Erik went on.

"'Or of chocolates?'"

"'Mother playing the violin…'"

"'…as we read to each other dark stories of the north?'"

"'No, what I love best,' Erik said, 'is when I'm asleep in my bed, _and the Angel of Music sings songs in my head!'_"

"_The Angel of Music sings songs in my head!_" the three of them sang, although Christine's voice was barely a whisper. How could he? _She_ was his Angel—yet he sang to this woman as though she was all he knew!

"Oh, you sang like an angel tonight," said the woman to Erik.

"Mother said, 'When I'm in heaven, child, I will send the Angel of Music to you'. Well, father is dead, Meg, and I have been visited by the Angel of Music!" Erik replied. Christine felt better—he hadn't forgotten her.

"Oh, no doubt of it!" So, she was called Meg? "And now, we'll go to supper!"

"No, Meg, the Angel of Music is very strict."

"Well, I shan't keep you up late!"

"Meg, no!"

"You must change. I'll order my carriage. Two minutes, Little Erik."

"No, Meg, wait!" But Erik was too late. Meg left, and Christine heard the door click behind her—someone had locked it. She then turned to the reason why she had come.

"_Insolent girl, the slave of fashion, basking in your glory!_

_Ignorant fool! This brave young mistress, sharing in my triumph!"_

She watched the effect of her haunting voice on him. He rose slowly, and sang back to her.

"_Angel, I hear you! Speak, I listen! Stay by my side, guide me!_

_Angel, my soul was weak, forgive me! Enter at last, teacher!"_

His last words sent a chill down her spine. Here, it had come, and all she had to do was open the mirror and call.

"_Flattering child, you shall know me, see why in shadow I hide!_

_Look at your face in the mirror—I am there, inside!"_

Christine slid the mirror open, and Erik turned and saw her.

"_Angel of Music, guide and guardian, grant to me your glory!_

_Angel of Music, hide no longer! Come to me, strange Angel!"_

She held out her hand as he slowly followed her haunting song.

"I am your Angel of Music! Come to me, Angel of Music!

_I am your Angel of Music! Come to me, Angel of Music!"_


	2. The Music of the Night

Christine knew exactly where she would lead him—down to her lair, past the tunnels of the Labyrinth, past the cold, dark lake, until he saw her true residence. She brought him gently, loving his touch even through her black-gloved hand. He was now in her power, and she could feel the sensation spreading through her as never before. She had a small shadow in the corner of her mind that he might get too curious…her mask intrigued all. But she could not let him see the horror beneath.

_"In sleep she sang to me, in dreams she came,_

_That voice which calls to me and speaks my name._

_And do I dream again? For now I find,_

_The Phantom of the Opera is there, inside my mind."_

Christine pulled him gently onward, and sang back to him.

"Sing once again with me, our strange duet!

_My power over you grows stronger yet!_

_And though you turn from me, to glance behind,_

_The Phantom of the Opera is there, inside your mind."_

They had reached the lake. She helped him into her wooden gondola, got in behind him, and began to push the boat along as they took turns singing.

"Those who have seen your face draw back in fear!

_I am the mask you wear!"_

_"It's me they hear!"_

Their voices merged, filling the passage with sound.

"My/your spirit and your/my voice in one combined!

_The Phantom of the Opera is there, inside your mind!"_

Christine felt the power within her rising to an almost unbearable rate, and let it out into the song completely.

"In all your fantasies, you always knew

_That voice and mystery…"_

_"…were both in you!"_

They sang together again. Christine could hardly steer the boat.

_"And in this Labyrinth, where night is blind,_

_The Phantom of the Opera is there/here, inside your/my mind!"_

_"She's there, the Phantom of the Opera…"_

His powerful voice rolled around her as he vocalized. He continued as they approached the shore of the lake, and Christine could barely believe that _she_ had taught him, _she_ had given him the strength to sing in such a way. "Sing, my Angel of Music!" she encouraged him. "Sing for me!"

As the last, highest note was hit, the boat cast onto the sloping shore. Christine was so full of music that, as she set the pole against the wall and removed her cloak with a swirl, she sang again.

_"I have brought you to the seat of sweet Music's throne,_

_To that kingdom where all must pay homage to Music, Music._

_You have come here with one purpose and one alone!_

_Since the moment I first heard you sing, I have needed you with me,_

_To serve me, to sing for my Music, my Music…"_

He had stayed in the boat the whole time, watching her with a mesmerized look. She went to him and the tone of her voice changed, becoming softer and tantalizing. He took her hand and again the sensation of touch erupted her arm in flames. She held onto him as he stepped out of the boat, and could not stop singing.

"Nighttime sharpens, heightens each sensation!

_Darkness stirs and wakes imagination!_

_Silently the senses abandon their defenses,_

_Helpless to resist the notes I write!_

_For I compose the music of the night!"_

She had to release his hand now, or she herself would catch fire in a moment. She turned away slightly and climbed the stairs as he followed her, always just beyond arm's length. She wished he would reach for her again.

_"Slowly, gently, night unfurls its splendor._

_Grasp it, sense it, tremulous and tender._

_Turn your face away from the garish light of day!_

_Turn your thoughts away from cold, unfeeling light,_

_And listen to the music of the night!"_

Even without touch, she could sense how she wanted him. Every fiber in her body longed to be with him, just for a moment.

"Close your eyes, for your eyes will only tell the truth

_And the truth isn't what you want to see!_

_Close your eyes, let your spirit star to soar!"_

He closed his eyes as she held the high note, and she wondered what _he_ felt inside.

"And you'll live as you've never lived before!

_Softly, deftly, music shall caress you._

_Hear it, feel it, secretly possess you!"_

His arms drifted out toward her, and she gave them a long look before she touched one gently.

_"Open up your mind! Let your fantasies unwind_

_In this darkness that you know you cannot fight,_

_The darkness of the music of the night!"_

Her hands slid into his, and their fingers intertwined.

_"Let your mind start a journey through a strange new world!_

_Leave all thoughts of the world you knew before!_

_Let your soul take you where you long to be!"_

His eyes opened on that note, wide, starry, deep sapphire eyes that stared into her fiery ones with wonder and delight. Both of their hands were interlaced now, and Christine's breath was shorter.

"Only then can you belong to me…"

She drew herself into him, turning to press her back gently into him. He stiffened slightly, then relaxed, his arms coming around her waist. She guided his hand as it moved slowly over her shoulder and neck, and the unmasked side of her face.

"Floating, falling, sweet intoxication!

_Touch me, trust me, savor each sensation!_

_Let the dream begin! Let your darker side give in_

_To the power of the music that I write,_

_The power of the music of the night!"_

His hands trembled slightly. Christine denied herself the pleasure of further contact with him for his sake, and drew away, leading him again by the hand into her bedroom, where there was a soft bed in the shape of a swan. He lowered onto it without resistance, his eyes closing in the bliss of natural sleep. She looked down at him, hoping, wishing for more than she should.

_"You alone can make my song take flight…"_

She wanted him to hold her, and she wanted to kiss him. He would never love her. But he could do something.

"Help me make the music of the…night!"

She gently brushed her fingers across his lips. The curved upward in a sleeping smile. She stared longingly, hungrily at them, then slowly left.

She had been composing for her opera, _Aminta__ Triumphant_, but could think of no words to write. Now, she sat down at her desk and took up her quill, and the words flowed freely onto the paper.

_"You have come here in pursuit of your deepest urge,_

_In pursuit of that wish which, till now, has been silent, silent…"_


	3. Stranger Than You Dreamt it

A/N Author:TheTrinity--just wait for it! Daisy Deertree--Yes, I do. And now that I finally got my mask...8K evil laugh! I REALLY need R&R...this is my 1st fic, so PLEASE, r&r if u love Gerry B.!

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Chapter 3—Stranger Than You Dreamt It

Erik awoke slowly to the sound of rolling music from without his room. He tried to remember what had happened—he had gone back to his room after the performance, he had spoken with Meg…and then his Angel had come. He had followed her, he didn't remember where, but a few things came to his mind as he rose and moved toward the music.

_"I remember there was mist, swirling mist upon a vast, glassy lake._

_There were candles everywhere, and on the lake, there was a boat,_

_And in the boat, there was a woman…"_

He emerged and looked around. The room was full of ornate sculptures and draping velvet cloths. He saw the lake and the boat, and when he turned to find the source of the music, he saw his Angel, sitting at a huge pipe organ covered in sheet music, turning to him just as he saw her.

"_Who was that shape in the shadows? Whose is the face in the mask?_"

His legs carried him toward her, and she watched him calmly. He extended a hand and lightly touched her face. The contact made him slightly dizzy, and she stood and guided his fingers closer, reaching to touch him as well. His palm trailed across her neck, and her eyes closed with the sensation as her hands slid down his arm and across his chest. He watched, all the while wondering about the mask she wore. Curiosity overcame him, and while her eyes still were closed, he drew her to him gently and pried it off.

She shrieked at him, and he let go of her and her mask, backing away a step or two. He had never seen such deformity, such diversity from the beautiful left side of her face. She clutched at her features and fell away from him to the floor.

"_Damn you, you little prying detective, you little demon!_

_Is this what you wanted to see?_

_Curse you, you little lying betrayer, you little viper!_

_Now you cannot ever be free!_

_Damn you, curse you!"_

Her eyes were filled with hate as she stared through her fingers at him.

_"Stranger than you dreamt it—_

_Can you even dare to look, or bear to think of me?_

_This loathsome gargoyle, who burns in Hell, _

_But secretly yearns for Heaven,_

_Secretly…secretly…"_

She had turned away from him now, and he saw her shoulders quiver uncontrollably. When she sang, it was in desperation and utter sadness.

_"But, Erik,_

_Fear can turn to love—_

_You'll learn to see, to find the soul behind the monster_

_This repulsive carcass, who seems a beast, _

_But secretly dreams of beauty,_

_Secretly…secretly…_

_Oh, Erik!"_

Her entire frame shook with sobs as she reached back, still looking away. He crouched down, picked up her mask, and handed it to her. She tossed her hair out of her face and donned her covering. She took a moment to compose herself, then spoke.

"Come, we must return," she said sorrowfully. "Those two fools who run my theatre will be missing you."

* * *

There was great chaos the day after Erik's disappearance. The building was searched for him, and newspapers reported the mystery. Of course, this was how Christine wanted it. She left a note for Madame Giry to give to the managers, and recited it softly in her lair as she brushed her waves of dark hair.

"Gentlemen, I have now sent you several notes of the most amiable nature, detailing how my theatre is to be run. You have not followed my instructions. I shall give you one last chance. _Erik Daaé has returned to you and I am anxious his career should progress. In the new production of "Il Muto", you will therefore cast Piangi as the Pageboy, and put Monsieur Daaé in the role of the Prince. The role which Monsieur Daaé plays calls for charm and appeal. The role of the Pageboy is silent, which makes my casting, in a word, ideal._ I shall watch the performance from my normal seat in Box Five, which will be kept empty for me. Should these commands be ignored, a disaster beyond your imagination will occur. I remain, gentlemen, your obedient servant, O. G."

She set her brush down and put her mask back on. She really hated that mask. It reminded her of most of her childhood, which she had spent being thrashed and laughed at by a caravan of traveling gypsies and their customers. She hated the scars on her back, and the recollections of the rope, taut in her hand, her captor dangling from the noose at the other end. She had escaped the gypsies, but not their memory. And now, here she was, buried under the Paris Opera, and the one love of her life had seen her ugliness and would never return.

She sighed. She remembered the night before, the way he had touched her so gently, caressed her so carefully, and simply held her in a way as she'd never known and never would again. Those damned managers…she had a feeling that they would disobey her yet again. She would have to, indeed, create a 'disaster beyond their imaginations.' What to choose? She thought about it, and decided on Buquet.

Joseph Buquet was a stagehand. He was a vile bastard—Christine knew for a fact that he watched the dancers change in their dressing rooms. He also was too curious for his own good. He had nearly caught her one day, as she made for a trapdoor. She had followed him more than once, and discovered that he knew many secret passages that she had hidden around the House. Buquet could be disposed of, easily enough. She had her Punjab lasso, and was she not the Phantom, after all?

_

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__A/N Uploader: I love this story so far and you should defiantly review. Believe me, this story is worth the effort of typing a review. It takes both the author and myself great effort in writing (Her Part) and uploading/italicizing/and writing this very A/N(on my part) So…REVIEW PLEASE! If you're looking for more POTO Fics in addition to the wonderful masterpiece above you should check out mine "Music of the Soul" under my pen name lilhobbitsparrow. Good Day to you all and if you need help locating the review button, it's on the bottom left-hand corner of the screen._


	4. Those Eyes That Burn

Chapter 4—Those Eyes That Burn

_"Poor fool,s he makes me laugh!_

_Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha!"_

Christine grimaced at Piangi's voice. He was cast in her student's role, of course, and she stood on the ledge reserved for those in charge of the lighting of the big chandelier. She had to put a stop to this, now, or it would completely sicken her.

"Did I not instruct that Box Five was to be kept empty? Did I not tell you to cast Monsieur Daaé in the role of the Prince?"

At the sound of her voice, everyone in the theatre turned to stare up at her black form, so visible against the white of the ceiling. She disappeared through the door that was behind her, and heard frantic shouts and the orchestra trying to start again. She dashed through another secret passage, Punjab lasso ready in her hand. As she reached the area above the stage, Joseph Buquet turned the corner just ahead of her. He caught sight of Christine and opened his mouth to yell, but the rope darted like a snake out of her hand, cutting off his air.

Tying the other end to a wooden beam, she pushed him off the edge so he dangled in the midst of those onstage. There were fresh screams, and Christine waited a moment before cutting the rope and letting the dead bastard fall. Erik saw her, and she saw him, staring up at her fearfully. Amidst the chaos onstage, the Vicomtess Meg deChagny made her way to him. Christine hid in the shadows, following their every movement with her eyes.

k

"Meg, we're not safe here!" Erik began to pull the Vicomtess through the myriad of people, running to get away from the Phantom's eyes.

"Erik, where are we going?"

"She'll kill you!"

Their voices overlapped each other, desperately, as they climbed the stairs, higher and higher, running away.

_"Her eyes will find us there…"_

_"Erik, don't say that!"_

_"Those eyes that burn…"_

_"Don't even think it!"_

_"And if she has to kill a thousand men…" _

_"Forget this waking nightmare!"_

_"The __Phantom__ of the Opera will kill and kill again!"_

Christine followed them, dodging through the House, melting into shadows as though she were one of them.

"This Phantom is a fable," Meg said to Erik._ "Believe me, there is no Phantom of the Opera!"_

_"My God, __who__ is this one…"_

_"My God, who is __this one__?"_

_"…who hunts to kill?"_

_"This mask __of__ death!"_

_"I can't escape __from__ her—"_

_"Whose is this __voice__ you hear?"_

_"I never will!"_

_"With __every__ breath…"_

Erik couldn't stop running. His voice combined with Meg's as he pulled her, higher and higher, to the very roof of the Opera.

_"And in __this__ labyrinth where night is blind,_

_The Phantom of the Opera is here, inside my/your mind!" _

_"There is __no__ Phantom of the Opera!"_

They emerged into the cold. Christine was but a few yards behind them, but Erik moved swiftly to the edge of the roof, trembling, and Meg's attention was on him entirely. Christine moved swiftly to the statue of Apollo's Lyre and hid behind it, watching the two of them in isolated disbelief.

_"Meg, I've been there, to her world of unending night,_

_To a world where the daylight dissolves into darkness, darkness… _

_Meg, I've seen her! Can I ever forget that sight?_

_Can I ever escape from that face? So distorted, deformed,_

_It was hardly a face, in that darkness, darkness…_

_But her voice filled my spirit with a strange, sweet sound!_

_In that night, there was music in my mind!_

_And through music, my soul began to soar…_

_And I heard as I've never heard before!"_

Christine could hardly believe what she had heard. She knew there was utter terror in his voice, but his words encased a validity that she hardly dared think of. Meg stood next to the young man, her hands on his arms.

_"What you heard __was__ a dream, and nothing more!"_

Erik shivered. He knew that it had not been a dream, but he couldn't tell Meg, somehow. The words would not come. He still felt the Phantom's eyes on him, although he did not know exactly how close she was.

_"Yet in her eyes, all the sadness of the world_

_Those__ pleading eyes that both threatened and adored…"_

Meg turned him gently to face her, and pulled him into her. Christine watched in complete desperation as the two embraced, Meg calling softly.

_"Erik...Erik..."_

_"Erik..."_

Christine swiftly brought a hand to her mouth as she ducked behind the statue. She hadn't meant to echo Meg aloud, but her voice had different ideas. She crouched out of sight, and continued listening, saddened beyond her own belief.

_"No more talk of darkness. Forget these wide-eyed fears!_

_I'm here—nothing can harm you. My words will warm and calm you._

_Let me be your freedom! Let daylight dry your tears._

_I'm here, with you, beside you to guard you and to guide you!" _

Christine had to look now, as her Angel answered the woman. She could do no more than watch—she really didn't want to. She knew what was coming.

_"Say you love me every waking moment! Turn my head with talk of summertime!_

_Say you need me with you, now and always! Promise me that all you say is true!_

_That's all I ask of you!"_

_"Let me be your freedom, let me be your light!_

_You're safe—no one will find you. Your fears are far behind you!"_

_"All I want is freedom, a world with no more night,_

_And you, always beside me, to hold me and to hide me!"_

_"Then say you'll share with me one love, one lifetime!_

_Let me lead you from your solitude!_

_Say you need me with you, here, beside you!_

_Anywhere you go, let me go too!_

_Erik, that's all I ask of you!"_

They were much too close to each other. A tear caught on Christine's eyelash and froze in the chill night air. Erik sang almost eagerly.

_"Say you'll share with me one love, one lifetime!_

_Say the word and I will follow you."_

And their voices combined, strong and young.

_"Share each day with me,_

_Each night, each morning!"_

_"Say you love me!"_

_"You know I do!"_

Meg tilted her head upward toward the singer who now held her so tightly, so lovingly. She could hardly believe that, a moment ago, he had been terrified of an invisible pair of burning eyes.

_"Love me! That's all I ask of you!"_

Christine turned away as they kissed. She was heartbroken. She could bear to watch nothing else. She silently wept, letting her cloak fall away from her bare arms, sinking to her knees on the snow-covered rooftop. She felt no physical cold. It was all inside her, every bit, and nothing could ever warm her now.

_"Anywhere you go, let me go too!_

_Love me, that's all I ask of you!"_

She never noticed exactly when they left. All she knew was that suddenly she was alone on the rooftop. She ventured out into the open, and saw, lying there, abandoned in the snow, her rose. She knelt again and picked it up.

_"I gave you my music, made your song take wing,_

_And now, how you've repaid me—denied me and betrayed me!_

_She was bound to love you when she heard you sing!_

_Erik!"_

From the street below, their united voices floated up to her.

_"Say you'll share with me one love, one lifetime!_

_Say the word, and I will follow you!_

_Share each day with me, each night, each morning!"_

Christine had subconsciously crushed the rose in her gloved fingers. Her breaths were short, quick, and angry. She stood swiftly and scaled Apollo's Lyre in a mere second. She let her voice carry to the very sky above.

_"You will curse the day you did not do_

_All that the Phantom asked of you!"_


	5. Why so Silent?

Chapter 5—Why So Silent, Good Messieurs?

It was ready—finished. _Aminta__ Triumphant_ was complete, and Christine was ready for its introduction. She would appear at the merry, mad Bal Masque de l'Opera that celebrated the New Year. Secretly, as she blacked the area around her eyes with makeup, she desperately wanted Erik to be there as well. He had been gone these past three months. There was no doubt in Christine's mind that he had run away with the Vicomtess. Desperate to forget all that had passed there, on the rooftop, she had flung herself completely into composing, and barely knew anything else. She hardly ate, she scarcely slept, and she only ventured out on brief excursions to collect her salary or drop a note to the managers for one reason or another.

Finally, finally, her masterpiece of darkness was complete, and the only thing left to do with it was send it out into the world of light. Who knew what horrors waited in the Phantom's opera?

When she emerged, she stayed in the shadows at the top of the Grand Staircase. It was quite a sight, this mad Masquerade, themed in black, gold, and white and silver. The Phantom had dressed in the prominent guise of Red Death, draped in shades of crimson, vermilion, and scarlet. She held in her hand the bound score of _Aminta_, and a rapier was buckled at her waist. She delighted in what she planned to say, and awaited the perfect moment to make her grand entrance.

She shrank back into shadows as the two people she'd been waiting for—Erik and Meg—stopped in front of her, their backs to her. They held hands, and Christine felt a clutch of anger.

"Think of it!" said Erik to Meg. "A secret engagement!"

"Look, your future bride!" she said, toying with a ring on a chain around her neck.

"Just think of it!"

"But why is it secret? What have we to hide? You promised me…"

She leaned in to kiss him, but he pulled away, glancing around nervously. "Please don't, they'll see!"

"Well then, let them see!" she said, exasperated. "It's an engagement, not a crime."

Erik looked at her, pleading. She sighed.

_"Erik, what are you afraid of?"_

_"Let's not argue."_

_"Let's not argue!"_

_"Please pretend—you will understand in time!"_

_"I can only hope I'll understand in time!"_

They moved away. Christine grimaced—her Angel was engaged, and he hadn't told her! She turned her attention back to the dancers.

_"Masquerade! Paper faces on parade! Masquerade!_

_Hide your face so the world will never find you!_

_Masquerade! Every face a different shade! Masquerade!_

_Look around, there's another mask behind you!"_

Christine smirked—how little they knew!

_"Masquerade! Grinning yellows, spinning reds! Masquerade!_

_Take your fill—let the spectacle astound you—"_

She delighted in the way people drew back and silenced at her sudden presence at the top of the stairs. She scanned the room slowly through her skeleton mask, noting the presence of Erik and the Vicomtess with glee. With a measured step, she began to descend.

_"Why so silent, good messieurs? Did you think that I had left you for good?_

_Have you missed me, good messieurs? I have written you an opera!_

_Here I bring the finished score…Aminta Triumphant!"_

With the same fluid motion, she tossed the score at Firmin's feet and drew her rapier out of its sheathe. She descended further, approaching where Piangi stood with his mistress, La Carlotta.

_"Fondest greetings to you all! A few instructions just before rehearsal starts:_

_Carlotta must be taught to act, not her normal trick of strutting round the stage!_

_Our Passarino must lose some weight…it's not healthy in a man of Piangi's age!_

_And my managers must learn that their place is in an office, not the arts!"_

She had smoothly pointed the deadly sword at each person in turn, but she now sheathed it again, drawing near Erik at the very bottom of the staircase.

_"And as for our star, Monsieur Erik Daaé…"_

She caught her breath for an instant, watching him. She saw the sound of her melodious voice beginning to take its toll on his mind. She forced herself on.

_"No doubt he'll do his best; it's true, his voice is good!_

_He knows, though, should he wish to excel, he has much still to learn,_

_If pride will let him return to me, his teacher…his teacher…"_

She placed a hand on her chest to further her point. She was within arm's reach of him now, but as a small, white hand, Meg's hand, laid itself on his shoulder, she was filled with a burning rage like none she'd ever felt. She glared at the two of them through the eyes of her mask. She reached out and slapped the Vicomtess's hand off of her Erik's arm.

"Your chains still are mine…you will sing for me!"

The silence broke then. She heard swords being drawn all around her, and drew hers, spinning. She stepped forward, and vanished into a trapdoor. Those merrymakers tried to follow her, but she was gone before they noticed how.

Erik felt himself jerked back to reality. One moment, his Angel had stood in front of him, begging—subtly, but begging—him to return. Then, she was gone, and his fiancée stood in her place, tugging on his hands. He drew her to him absentmindedly, still thinking.


	6. My Name is Christine

Chapter 6—My Name Is Christine

_She was dreaming. Deep in her subconscious, she knew that, but she lived the pain as though it were happening yet again._

_She was nine years old. She wore a tattered, rumpled dress, the back cut through and bloodstained. She dug her nails into her palms hard enough to draw more blood as the evil man hit her again…and again…lash after lash, and the crowd outside her cage jeering and spitting. Then came the inevitable revealing—her cloth mask was torn cruelly away, and children cried when they saw her._

_There were girls about her, some as young as she was, but many around fifteen and older. They stared at her, and she at them, sorrowfully, painfully. But they could walk away, and go on with their ballet training at the __Opera__ Populaire__. She was doomed to this eternal hell forever…_

Christine awoke, sweating, her throat raw with smothered cries. Often, lately, she awoke from the same dream, always before her escape, always wishing there was someone there to hold her. She wrapped her arms around her in attempt to console herself, but couldn't fall back to sleep. She rose and left the room, wandering over to her organ. She touched the keys hesitantly, then sat and played a thunderous chord from _Aminta__ Triumphant._ She sang full and strong.

_"Past the point of no return, the final threshold!_

_The bridge is crossed, so stand and watch it burn!_

_We've passed the point of no return!"_

"Angel?"

Christine whipped around, startled. Leaning against the iron gate was Erik. Swiftly, she pushed the lever that admitted him, but she turned back to the organ as he approached her. She was still hurt from him, and she wanted him to know, but she did not want his pity.

"Angel?"

She sighed. "Stop that, Erik. My name is Christine."

"Ch-Christine?"

"What is it, my student?"

He paused, and she sensed the position of his hand, barely an inch from her shoulder. Her voice, almost cold, made him stop. She wished he'd touch her, just once, just so she could feel him near her. She closed her eyes in disappointment.

"I got the part of Don Juan."

"I expected no less. Your voice is well enough. Better than Fat Piangi's voice."

He steeled himself, then put his hand all the way out and laid it gently on her arm. His contact intoxicated her, and she felt a spasm of something like pleasure. "Will you still teach me?" he inquired.

"I said you were my student, did I not?"

"An—Christine, I just want to say…I am sorry."

She finally turned to face him. "For what?"

He knelt beside her, and his hand slid down her arm to take hers. "I know you love me."

She gazed at him, her eyes asking him desperately, "Why?" She didn't ask aloud, but instead said with certainty, "No one could ever love a creature like me."

Erik looked away from those pleading eyes that both threatened and adored. For in them, all the sadness of the world lingered, reflecting inside him painfully until he felt close to tears. His eyes found her hand, resting in his quietly, unmoving. It was bloodless, white, and cold, but the presence of her bare skin on his made his fingers burn.

He shook himself mentally. He was engaged, wasn't he? To a beautiful young Vicomtess…he stopped the thought, for he suddenly realized that Meg might be pretty, but Christine—for all her deformed face—was nothing short of beautiful. When she sang—oh, God, when she sang—she filled his spirit with the passionate fire of her soul. He knew that her cold appearance was merely a façade, and that it was as hard for her to remove as her mask. But he had taken away her mask…was he perhaps melting her barrier, if ever so slightly?

Her free hand went to his face and tilted it upward to look at her. He realized that he had never seen her smile. The look she gave him now was certainly full of sorrow.

"Come with me," she said softly. He didn't really have a choice—he could hardly think about letting go of her, and her song still filled his soul. She led him to the boat and got in with him before beginning to push it along.

He didn't recognize the route they took, but he found himself suddenly in a small area, bathed in moonlight from a far-off window. There was no sound except gentle ripples hitting the sides of the gondola, and their breathing. She drew the pole out of the water and rested it below the wooden seats before she sat opposite him, her legs drawn in neatly, and her white arms wrapped around her knees. She watched him silently, and he felt he must say something.

"Why?" he asked.

"What?" she returned.

"Why do you think you could never be loved?"

At this, her already unhappy face turned crestfallen. The unmasked side was in shadows, but Erik saw a tear brimming in the eye he could see.

"I never have been," came the soft reply.

That was when he finally knew that she was wrong. _He_ loved her. He loved this Phantom of the Opera, this Opera Ghost. He loved her music, her movements, her voice, even her dementia—everything about her. In that moment, he forgave her for the crimes he knew she'd committed, and those he did not know of. He reached out and pulled off the porcelain mask, and she let him. She made no move even as he laid it on the wood beside her and returned his hand to her deformed face. His fingers trailed over her cheekbone gently, and moved down her jaw line and her neck, then her chest, all the way down her torso. Her eyes had closed, and he could feel her trembling.

"You are engaged, Erik," she reminded him softly. He wished with all his heart that he were not, but they both knew it, and could not deny the fact. "I am sorry," she said. "This is my fault. I should not have brought you to this place."

Did she mean here, now, or did she mean she never should have shown herself? Neither of them knew the answer, and neither knew if she was right.


	7. Past the Point of No Return

Chapter 7—Past The Point Of No Return

It was the opening night of _Aminta__ Triumphant,_ and Christine had to admit to herself that she was excited. She thought as she twined roses in her hair, and knew that she was making a choice that mightn't seem good, but she had a feeling, and usually her feelings turned out correct. The final scene, the one she planned to intrude upon, was the scene she had written after watching Erik fall asleep in her bed.

_"You have come here in pursuit of your deepest urge…"_

She smiled as she sang to herself. It was a dry smile, and she knew it. She put the finishing touch on her costume—the black mask that she had written in for Aminta to wear. She pulled back one of the hangings that covered the various mirrors and shuddered. She hated looking at herself, but she must, if she wanted this costume to be perfect. She grinned uncannily at her reflection, and burst out in a line of song.

_"Seal my fate tonight—I hate to have to cut the fun short,_

_But the joke's wearing thin, let the audience in, _

_Let my opera begin!"_

k

Erik was nervous. Before the performance even started, he sought comfort from Meg, although she gave him little. His thoughts strayed back to Christine, and the look in her eyes that night in the boat.

_"Meg, I'm frightened, don't make me do this!_

_It scares me—don't put me through this ordeal by fire!_

_She'll take me, I know. We'll be parted forever. She won't let me go!_

_What I once used to dream I now dread! If she finds me, it won't ever end, _

_And she'll always be there, singing songs in my head_

_She'll always be there, singing songs in my head..."_

He sat with her in his dressing room. He had only minutes before he must begin to go down to the stage, but he was torn all the same. Meg offered few words for him.

_"You said yourself she was nothing but a woman,_

_Yet while she lives, she will haunt us till we're dead."_

He couldn't deny her correctness, and yet…

_"Twisted every way, what answer can I give?_

_Am I to risk my life to win the chance to live?_

_Can I betray the one who once inspired my voice? _

_Do I become her prey? Do I have any choice?_

_She kills without a thought, she murders all that's good _

_I know I can't refuse and yet, I wish I could!_

_Oh God, if I agree, what horrors wait for me_

_In this, the Phantom's opera?"_

Meg grasped his hand.

_"Erik, Erik, don't think that I don't care,_

_But every hope and every prayer rests on you now!"_

He knew she was right. The problem was, he didn't know if he could stand the sweet seduction that surely lay before him.

k

_"Here the sire may serve the dam, here the mistress takes her meat!_

_Here the sacrificial lamb utters one despairing bleat!_

_Poor young master! For the thrill on your tongue of stolen sweets _

_You will have to pay the bill, tangled in the winding sheets! _

_Serve the meal and serve the master! Serve the maid so that, _

_When tables, plans and men are laid, Aminta triumphs once again!"_

Erik's heart beat faster. His emergence was upon him, and he knew what would happen in this, the final scene of the Phantom's opera.He strolled onto the stage in his sweet, innocent shepherd's costume—a pair of soft, brown breeches and an equally soft, white, blousy shirt that was open to reveal his chiseled chest. He entered to one side with Passarino as Aminta entered at the other. She sang.

_"No thoughts within her head, but thoughts of joy!_

_No dreams within her heart, but dreams of love!"_

Her face was turned from him, but he knew perfectly well from her voice who stood there with her basket of roses.

_"__Passarino__, go away for the trap is set and waits for its prey!"_

Aminta looked over to him. She was, of course, being played by Christine, but who could tell, except Erik? And though he knew, it was already too late to stop her. She began the song in a high, alluring voice.

_"You have come here in pursuit of your deepest urge!_

_In pursuit of that wish which, till now, has been silent, silent…_

_I have brought you that our passions may fuse and merge!_

_In your mind you've already succumbed to me,_

_Dropped all defenses, completely succumbed to me…_

_Now you are here with me, no second thoughts, you've decided, decided..."_

Christine had moved toward him almost without thinking, and he had done the same. The movements had been rehearsed, but the two felt nothing, as though their bodies simply needed no commanding. They met center-stage and entwined their arms, twisting around each other. Christine's entire body burned with their contact, as did Erik's. She sang on, even more lustily.

_"Past the point of no return, no backward glances!_

_Our games of make believe are at an end!_

_Past all thought of 'if' or 'when'—no use resisting!_

_Abandon thought, and let the dream descend!_

_What raging fire shall flood the soul? What rich desire unlocks its door?_

_What sweet seduction lies before us?"_

Christine knew she meant every word of the song for Erik, and Erik alone. She had written it for him, as he slept just a room away.

_"Past the point of no return, the final threshold!_

_What warm, unspoken secrets will we learn,_

_Beyond the point of no return...?"_

It was finally Erik's turn. He took his teacher's hand and drew it out so that her arm was extended. He kissed her knuckles, his eyes never leaving her face, even as he sang to her.

_"You have brought me to that moment where words run dry,_

_To that moment when speech disappears into silence, silence..._

_I have come here, hardly knowing the reason why!_

_In my mind, I've already imagined our bodies entwining,_

_Defenseless and silent…now I am here with you,_

_No second thoughts, I've decided, decided..."_

They separated and moved toward the spiral staircases on opposite sides of the stage that led up to the bridge, high above.

_"Past the point of no return, no going back now!_

_Our passion play has now, at last, begun!_

_Past all thought of right or wrong, one final question:_

_How long should we two wait, before we're one?"_

As they reached the top of the stairs, Erik suddenly realized that he sang, not _to_ Christine, but _for_ her. He meant the words with all his heart. He forgot Meg.

_"When will the blood begin to race, the sleeping bud burst into bloom?_

_When will the flames, at last, consume us?"_

They sang together as they met in the middle of the bridge. They must not only touch now. They must embrace with passion, and they did, every bit of it heartfelt, their bodies on fire. Her back was pressed against him, and he buried his face in her hair, his hands going to her waistline and throat.

_"Past the point of no return, the final threshold!_

_The bridge is crossed, so stand and watch it burn!_

_We've passed the point of no return..."_

Erik and Christine both knew they had. She pulled away slightly so she could look her student, and love, in his deep blue eyes.

_"Say you'll share with me one love, one lifetime!_

_Lead me, save me from my solitude!_

_Say you want me with you, here, beside you!"_

Erik never knew what his hand had in mind as it trailed up Christine's neck, subtly reaching for her mask.

_"Anywhere you go let me go too!_

_Erik, that's all I ask of..."_

He pulled it off.


	8. Down Once More

Chapter 8—Down Once More

As she jerked away from him, her natural instinct, Christine accidentally faced the audience. And while she could have recovered from his simple act, there was no going back now. She heard screaming and yelling as she looked around, exposed, bewildered. She would have to escape now.

She glared at Erik. She wasn't exactly angry—how could she be, when he watched her with such a pitiful expression on his face? She knew only that she was hurt, and the only way she knew how to express it was through anger. She seized the blade that was part of her costume and cut the rope that held up the chandelier. With her foot, she released the trapdoor, which opened directly below them, causing them to plunge nearly a hundred feet down.

She clung to Erik, not daring to let him go, and when they hit the bottom she automatically braced the impact. She caught his wrist and began to pull him along the dark corridor, moving back to her lair. Above them, she knew, the falling chandelier had set fire to the House, and a mob was probably assembling to arrest them. She moved with as great a speed as she could.

_"Down once more to the dungeon of my black despair!_

_Down we plunge to the prison of my mind!_

_Down that path into darkness deep as Hell!_

_Why, you ask, was I bound and chained to this cold and dismal place?_

_Not for any mortal sin, but the wickedness of my abhorrent face!"_

Erik was in terror, and she could see it. She hardly took notice of the path she'd chosen. All she could do was lead him blindly in her rage toward her place of dark refuge. In the distance, they could hear voices of what seemed to be hundreds of angry people, all chanting in unison.

_"Track down this murderer! She must be found!_

_Track down this murderer! She must be found!"_

They plunged through a last set of doorways and finally found themselves in her home, deep down below the burning House.

_"Hounded out by everyone!__ Met with hatred everywhere!_

_No kind word from anyone! No compassion anywhere! _

_Erik…_Why, why?"

­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­--------------------------------------------------

Madame Giry was leading the Vicomtess to the lair by the lake route.

_"Your hand at the level of your eyes!"_

_"…at the level of your eyes!"_

_"Your hand at the level of your eyes!"_

Madame Giry glanced apprehensively at Meg. "This is as far as I dare go," she said quietly.

"Thank you," the girl replied. She moved on alone.

_---------------------------------_

_"Have you gorged yourself, at last, in your lust for blood?_

_Am I now to be prey to your lust for flesh?"_

Christine stared at Erik. She knew that he must hate her for the deed she'd just performed. There was no telling how many had died already, or how many would. She understood the look he gave her, and his angry tone of voice, but not entirely his words. However, she gave a fit reply.

_"That fate, which condemns me to wallow in blood,_

_Has also denied me the joys of the flesh…"_

She reached a gentle hand toward him, but he backed away. A tear materialized in her eye, and she turned from him and gazed listlessly over the water.

_"This face, the infection, which poisons our love…_

_This face, which earned a mother's fear and loathing._

_A mask, my first unfeeling scrap of clothing!"_

She could sense his pity radiating in her direction. She wanted none of it. She looked back at him angrily, and he now averted his stare.

_"Pity comes too late! Turn around and face your fate!_

_An eternity of—this!—before your eyes!"_

She grabbed his shoulders forcefully and forced him around again. The sympathy in his eyes was now so evident that she had to back away. He sang to her softly.

_"This haunted face holds no horror for me now._

_It's in your soul that the true distortion lies."_

She looked at him sadly for an instant—she knew he was right. Then, she heard something. "Wait! I think, my dear, we have a guest!" She looked over toward the gate, and there stood the Vicomtess. "Ma'mselle! "This is indeed an unparalleled delight! I had rather hoped that you would come! And now my wish comes true—you have truly made my night!"

_"Free him! Do what you like, only free him! Have you no pity?"_

Christine knew she was not entirely herself. She chuckled menacingly at this desperate cry from Erik's fiancée. She moved to him, her eyes never leaving the dripping girl.

_"Your lover makes a passionate plea!"_

_"Please, Meg, it's useless!"_

_"I love him! Does that mean nothing? I love him! Show some compassion!"_

This angered Christine. Compassion?

_"The world showed no compassion to me!"_

_"Erik, Erik, let me see him!"_

_"Be my guest, Vicomtess!"_

Christine went to her organ and pushed the lever that raised the gate. She walked with a measured step toward where Meg had backed against the iron bars, which had fallen again as soon as she was under them.

_"__Ma'mselle__, I bid you welcome! Did you think that I would harm him?_

_Why would I make him pay for the sins which are yours?"_

She had gone closer and closer, her Punjab lasso hidden in the folds of her skirt. Erik gave a cry as the rope flew out, and Christine bound the young noblewoman tightly to the rails of the metal gate.

_"Order your fine horses now! Raise up your hand to the level of your eyes!_

_Nothing can save you now, except perhaps Erik!"_

She finished tying her knots and rounded on him.

"_Start a new life with me! Buy her freedom with your love!_

_Refuse me, and you send your lover to her death!_

_This is the choice! This is the point of no return!"_

His face was white. She hardly cared how terrified he was—this was the final threshold. She knew that he hated her—how could he not? She needed him, but she didn't think she knew any other way to go about it. His voice trembled with anger.

_"The tears I might have shed for your dark fate _

_Grow cold, and turn to tears of hate!"_

Leaving Meg where she was, Christine waded back up to the shore, and searched for another of her magical lassoes. She heard the girl's weak voice, and her student's overlapping.

_"Erik, forgive me, please forgive me!_

_I did it all for you, and all for nothing…" _

_"Farewell, my fallen idol, and false friend!"_

_We had such hopes, but now these hopes lie murdered!"_

Her own voice, seemingly out of her control, surmounted theirs as she found the rope and began to move toward Meg once again.

_"Too late for turning back, too late for prayers and useless pity!_

_Past all hope of cries for help, no point in fighting!"_

_"Say you love her, and my life is over!"_

Christine had reached Meg, and threw the Punjab around her neck, threading it through the gate higher up. She sang with all the feelings that had been locked inside her, and she heard the Vicomtess crying out in fear.

_"Either way you choose, she has to win!"_

_"For either way you choose, you cannot win! _

_So, do you end your days with me, or do you send her to her grave?"_

Meg glared at her as she backed up, holding on to the end of the rope, keeping it taut enough to make the girl uncomfortable, but not to kill her, just yet.

_"Why make him lie to you to save me?"_

They all sang at once now, the depths of the lair ringing with sound.

_"Angel of Music, why this torment?"_

_"Past the point of no return, the final threshold!"_

_"For pity's sake, Erik, say no! Don't throw your life away for my sake!"_

_"Why do you curse mercy?"_

Christine was full of hatred now, and desperation that he would follow Meg's cries rather than those of his Angel of Music.

_"Her life is now the prize which you must earn!"_

_"I fought so hard to free you…"_

Christine could hardly breathe. The desolation in his voice when he heard Meg's defeated one was too much for her.

_"Angel of Music, you deceived me!"_

_"You've passed the point of no return…"_

"I gave you my mind, blindly!" He was visibly trembling now, staring between his two loves in fear.

"You try my patience—make your choice!" Christine ordered him angrily. He shook his head sadly, approaching her.

_"Pitiful creature of darkness, what kind of life have you known? _

_God give me courage to show you, you are not alone!"_

She released her end of the Punjab lasso as he reached her with the final four words. She knew what he was going to do, yet she dreaded it. What had she done?

She felt paralyzed to the spot, but she didn't need to move. He wrapped her in his arms and kissed her, full and firm. She had never been kissed before…who would dare to kiss a devil's child like her? But Erik was there, standing close to her, pressing his mouth against hers, holding her in his warm embrace. She felt that last was a good thing, because her entire body was shaking with the force of the love she felt. And it was because of this love, she realized as he finally drew away, that she must let him go.

In the far distance, they heard the mob approaching.

_"Track down this murderer—she must be found!_

_Who is this monster, this murdering beast?_

_Hunt out this animal who runs to ground! _

_Revenge for Buquet! And for the chandelier!_

_Too long she's preyed on us, but now we know,_

_The Phantom of the Opera is there, deep down below!"_

"Take her, forget me, forget all of this!" She pushed him away and moved toward shore. "Leave me alone…forget all you've seen!Go now… don't let them find you!" She saw him go to the prisoner of the gate and mechanically untie her. She pushed the lever that opened the gate. "Take the boat… Swear to me never to tell the secret you know of the angel in hell! _Go now, go now, and leave me!_"


	9. Your Eyes Will Only Tell the Truth

Chapter 9—Your Eyes Will Only Tell The Truth

"Erik, come quickly!" Meg said, tugging on his arm.

"Meg…you go."

"What?"

"You heard me—go! I…" he paused for a moment, and Christine froze in anticipation. "…I choose to stay."

She clutched at the back of a chair to stay in a standing position. She heard the sounds of Meg leaving, and more of him approaching her, and his singing.

_"Masquerade!__ Paper faces on parade! Masquerade!_

_Hide your face, so the world will never find you!"_

She didn't feel she could trust her sight any more, so she did not turn around when she felt his hands on her shoulders, and then his chest pressed against her back as he supported her with his hands around her waist.

_"Christine, I love you…"_

"Why didn't you go?" she asked him quietly. "She is fair. I am hideous."

"_Mon ange_, do you think I am that shallow?"

She realized that she had closed her eyes, and opened them again. Was it possible? Was she loved for herself? Or was there some hideous coincidence here that was causing her to go mad?

"What about the people?" he breathed suddenly in her ear. She became instantly tense before she remembered her defense mechanism that she had built, should something like this ever happen. She drew gently away from Erik and moved over to a wall, where she drew back a tapestry to reveal a hidden panel. She opened it, and inside there was a handle. With all her strength, she pushed it up all the way, and the sound of grating metal resounded. Erik went behind her again and rested his hands on her hips. She was grateful to be able to, finally, lean on him, and be surrounded in the warmth of his love.

"What was that?" he asked when the sound stopped.

"There are now four closed gates between us and them," she replied. "I am sure that they only know of the entrance through the lake, and it would take them a week of work to get through."

"So we are safe?"

"Yes."

"Good." His hands traveled lightly up her sides, and she shivered as they touched her bare throat. He bent his head and kissed her neck deeply. She felt her body relax, and she sang almost lazily.

_"Say you'll share with me, one love, one lifetime!"_

He lifted his mouth just enough to sing back.

_"Say the word, and I will follow you!"_

He pressed his perfect face against her deformity. Their voices joined together.

_"Share each day with me each night, each morning..."_

She felt his lips caressing her jaw line, and sang with all the love in her heart.

_"You alone can make my song take flight!_

_Help me make the music of the night!"_

As her solo voice died away, he raised his hand to her face and lightly turned it toward him before kissing her passionately. Her tongue met his willingly, and their breath mingled pleasantly. And Christine knew, she was indeed loved, and that she never would adore another as she did Erik.

All too soon, they broke apart. She had to stop herself from gasping with this newfound sensation. His eyes became starry pools of deep blue water that pulled her into their endless fathoms. They were tired eyes, and she realized how long he had been awake.

"You should sleep," she told him. "You must be exhausted."

"Aren't you coming?"

She couldn't believe how much she _loved_ him. "I'll keep watch out here, just in case." She smiled at the slight disappointment in his eyes. "There will be many other nights," she said gently. He sighed resignedly and kissed her once more.

"Goodnight."

"Goodnight, _mon ange_"


	10. Passion, Music, and Revenge

Chapter 10—Passion, Music, and Revenge

Erik awoke less than an hour after he had gone to sleep. He sat up and put his feet on the floor, listening intently to the sounds outside his room. He heard organ music, and his Angel singing sweetly.

_"Child of the wilderness, born into emptiness,_

_Learn to be lonely! Learn to find your way in darkness!_

_Who will be there for you, comfort and care for you?_

_Learn to be lonely! Learn to be your one companion!_

_Never dreamed, out in the wild, there are arms to hold you!_

_You've always known your heart was on its own!_

_So, laugh in your loneliness, child of the wilderness!_

_Learn to be lonely! Learn how to love life that is lived alone!_

_Learn to be lonely! Life can be lived, life can be loved, alone!"_

He had made his way out of the bedroom slowly. The sweet music carried him all the way, and he found himself barely a yard behind her before she spoke to him.

"Couldn't sleep, my love?" she said, turning to look at him. He noticed that she had donned her mask again. He wondered if she would ever leave it off.

"Don't you ever sleep?"

"I do," she replied, eyes twinkling. "Not lately, though. Night is the best time of day."

"I can see why you would say that. _Nighttime sharpens, heightens each sensation…"_

_"Darkness stirs and wakes imagination…"_ She rose from her seat and held her arms out to him. He couldn't help himself—he enfolded her in his embrace, kissing the top of her head. He delighted in the way her fingers were splayed across his bare chest, and how her skirt swirled around his legs. He moved his lips over her forehead and down her face to her neck and bare shoulders. As she relaxed into him, he knew that he wanted her badly. He wanted to lie next to her in the swan-shaped bed, and kiss all the pains of her past away. He knew that she wanted him to, as well. There was one thing to do.

He took her hands and pulled her gently with him into the bedroom he'd just come from. Her eyes, as she looked at him, were full of a strange, sweet passion that told him she wanted him as terribly as he wanted her. As she moved, she sang, trancelike and haunting.

_"Poor young master!__ For the thrill on your tongue of stolen sweets,_

_You will have to pay the bill, tangled in the winding sheets!"_

They drew near the bed, and she pulled him down into a full kiss. He toyed with her corset string, and it dropped to the floor. All modesty followed, and they sank onto the bed, never breaking their kiss, until he hit her mask with his hand, knocking it onto the pillow.

She gave him a look of fear and confusion, and withdrew from him, groping for it again. He took it from her and let it slide to the floor. He kissed her chest, directly above her beating heart, then moved up to kiss her deformed face. She came back to him, more fervently than ever.

k

Meg was torn to shreds. She rode back to the Opera the next day, hollow and unfeeling. Her mind was locked on the single thought of revenge—on Erik for leaving her, on herself for letting him go, and on that whore…the Phantom, the Opera Ghost. The sexually aggressive slut who couldn't mind her own mood swings. The one who had stolen her handsome Prince Charming. Oh, yes, it was she that Meg wanted most of all. She wanted to strangle the bitch with her own fair hands, tear her apart, and scatter her remains to the vultures.

She secretly thanked the dead soul of Joseph Buquet. When he had been alive, he had courted her, and shown her some of the Opera's secrets. She had scoffed the information, doubting she'd ever need it, until his death, when Erik had begun to act terribly strangely.

To be honest, she thought, it wasn't really Erik himself that she wanted. Being a Vicomtess, she was used to getting her way. She had gone against her parents' rules and courted a low-ranking singer. She had been satisfied with her success—and then it had all been taken away from her. She knew she was selfish. She reveled in it. It meant she had permission to totally scoff every warning word that the Phantom had spat before Meg had gone from that horrid place. She wanted Erik back at her side, even if he hated her, just to show the world, and especially that devil's child, that she could get her way…no matter what.

Her driver pulled up before the destroyed House, and helped her out before going to wait for her return. She went straight up to where the managers stood just outside the ruined front door, talking in serious, low voices.

"Monsieurs," she announced as she approached them, "I may have a way for you and I to find the Opera Ghost, and lay this stupidity to rest once and for all."


	11. Frontal Assalt

Chapter 11—Frontal Assault

Christine opened her eyes and quickly shut them again. If this were a dream, she wanted it to last as long as possible. The image didn't die away, and she cautiously looked.

There—he was there, lying beneath her. Her head rested on his unclothed torso, and she could feel him moving with his steady breath. Right below her ear, his heartbeat sounded, loud and clear, exonerating all doubt in her mind. She tilted her head upward, and found his face, his angelic face, relaxed in peaceful sleep. He was smiling slightly, and she felt her heart swell with love. One of his hands rested on her naked back, the other was twined in her long, dark locks. She pressed her lips into his neck gently, and he stirred a bit.

"Christine?" she heard him murmur.

She kissed his cheek and replied, "I am here."

"I hear noises." His eyes drifted open a bit, and Christine listened as well. She heard them, too. She pulled away from him, whispering, "Stay here."

He nodded, and his eyes closed again. She got up and dressed silently and swiftly. Draping her black robe around her shoulders and quickly taking up her mask, she went to the door and opened it a crack.

Who had opened the gate? She slid out of the room and closed it again, all the while hearing the approaching sounds of people. There were not as many as there had been last night—maybe one score of them. Christine drew out of sight of the gate and waited apprehensively.

There was violent cursing—in several languages—on the part of several people whose voices she recognized. There were monsieurs Firmin and Andre, and Piangi, and—the one she dreaded to hear—the Vicomtess deChagny.

"Damn!" that person shouted, coming upon the bars of the gate and slamming into it with her body, making the sound ring. "Damn her!" Christine peered out at her, and was slightly satisfied at the disheveled state she was in.

"Vicomtess, please!" said Firmin, coming up behind her. He, however, spoke as loudly as she did as he addressed the air. "Opera Ghost, your time is up! Reveal yourself! Free yourself from the shadows long enough to have a word with your rivals!"

That pleased Christine, somehow. She stepped out, but stayed as far away as she could. "Rivals, are we? The last I checked, I only rivaled Mademoiselle—" she looked pointedly at Meg, "—and most definitely Signor!" She glanced at Piangi, for she had killed his mistress before the final scene of _Aminta__ Triumphant_ so that she could take her part. Carlotta had had a powerful set of lungs.

The Vicomtess began spewing insults at her. Christine listened blandly until she began to repeat herself, then said, "Shut your mouth, you damn fool."

"You are wrong in who is the fool here, Mademoiselle!" Andre said as Meg assaulted the gate violently.

"I, monsieur, am a genius! Hardly fit to call a fool, for that matter. I crafted all that is around you…particularly the iron bars which Vicomtess seems to have become so attached to lately."

"You killed my Carlotta!" screeched Piangi.

"Yes, that fat toad is dead! The theatre feels somewhat cleaner without her."

"You, Ma'mselle Ghost, have murdered, threatened, and captured to your heart's content. The charges will be lightened if you return Monsieur Daaé," said Firmin placidly.

"Charges?" Christine's voice became suddenly quiet and dangerous. "Monsieur Daaé? Monsieur Daaé remains in my company on his own accord."

"In your bed, more like!" spat Meg.

Christine smirked. "Naturally."

She was aware of an explosion of sound from most of the group before her, and her fingers traced the edge of her mask, but her gaze remained upon the young Vicomtess, if not her concentration. She broke her wicked, faraway glare when someone shouted.

"What horrendous plot is she thinking of now?"

She looked over the rest of the group, the sick grin still on her face. "I was simply imagining how easy it would be to kill you all." Her gaze lingered on Firmin. "Floating away in swirling water from a lake that has never seen the sun…admirable death."

Not to her surprise, he pulled a pistol from somewhere in his jacket, cocked it, and pointed it at her. "Make another move and I shall shoot!"

"Your hand's trembling so much, you couldn't shoot a whale tied to a target a metre away."

"Beware, Mademoiselle…"

"I must beware, you say? Why should I heed you, when you never heeded me?" Christine took a step, and Firmin shot. As she'd suspected, it went wildly astray, but she was sure the sound would wake Erik. Quickly she went to the door and locked it before going back to her organ. "Honestly, monsieurs, the joke is wearing thin!" she said, and pushed a hidden lever ever so slightly. A wave of water swirled in from behind the angry mob, knocking many of them off of their feet, causing them to cry out.

"Please—have mercy!" Andre cried.

"_Mercy?_" Christine replied, her voice rising. "What mercy was _I _shown?" She pushed again—another wave of cold water.

"Chri—Opera Ghost, please, stop this!" someone choked out. Surprised at the fact that someone had nearly used her name, Christine searched for who had spoken, and saw Madame Giry clinging to the wet bars.

"Ah…our excellent Madame Giry." She let go of the lever, and the water's turbulence slowly settled. "How kind of you to come, Madame. How _empathetic_ to save their lives…for you know I would never hurt you, dear Madame, if I knew you were here…" She shrugged and broke off, crossing her arms and leaning back against the cold stone wall.

Every one of the humans that she looked down upon was now wet, bedraggled, and panting. She knew a ready surrender when she saw one. "Good messieurs, ask me what I want! Go ahead—I beg you!"

"What…what do you want?" croaked Firmin.

She smirked once more. "I want you to leave. I want you to go, acting as though you never came here. Put the path out of your mind and never return. Continue to leave my salary as I ask. But go now, and don't forget—_the Phantom of the Opera is there, deep down below_!" She smiled in deep satisfaction as they began to stumble away. Madame Giry paused for an instant, her gaze questioning. Christine nodded ever so slightly, and the ballet mistress knew that she would be the only one permitted to visit again.

Soon after the sounds of the retreating scoundrels faded, Christine unlocked the door to her bedroom and looked in. She could tell that Erik had gotten up at one point, but he was now asleep again. She closed it softly and turned to her music.

A violin rested in a case on the floor. She took it out and tested each string to make sure it was in tune before she flew off into _Aminta__ Triumphant._

_"Here the sire may serve the dam, here the mistress takes her meat!_

_Here the sacrificial lamb utters one despairing bleat!_

_Poor young master! For the thrill on your tongue of stolen sweets _

_You will have to pay the bill, tangled in the winding sheets!"_

She could go no farther than that before she began to laugh too heartily to play or sing. Aminta had triumphed once more.

k

It was around nine thirty that morning when the door of her bedroom opened suddenly. There stood Erik, looking very…

"Put this on," said Christine, tossing him her robe and trying not to laugh. "You'll catch your death, dressed like that." Apparently, he hadn't noticed his own lack of clothing, for he blushed scarlet and donned the black cloth quickly. He wandered over to where she was setting a bowl of fruit on the table and, as she turned to go past him, caught Christine up in his arms and bent her back in a dramatic kiss. His lips moved down her neck to the base of her throat, and she laughed with a golden sound.

"I swear, one of these days, you will slay me like that!" she gasped.

"Then I'd have no choice but to kill myself, for I could not live without you!"

"Pretty words."

"True words!"

"So you say!"

He reached up and removed her mask so that he could kiss her properly. His lips roved over her entire face, his tongue creeping out to follow. She returned his every caress, her fingers finding their way inside the robe to massage the toned muscles of his back as his lingered around her hips and waist. Although the cloth drape was short enough to expose Erik's legs, it seemed to billow and grow to encase both of them. Before he knew it, he had swaddled his love into it and carried her off to bed again with him. She resisted only playfully, and together they sang the passionate Music of the Night.


	12. Escape!

Chapter 12—Escape!

Erik loved springtime in the Labyrinth. Every day, he found fresh flowers in vases all around, and though he did not know how, he suspected that Christine made many more night excursions than he knew of. She still gave him lessons, and he enjoyed them as much as ever. The lake became less frigid, and one could walk in it without being frozen. The two of them often swam together, laughing and splashing until they could hardly stand in their gaiety.

Christine privately mused at that—if anyone had said to her a year ago that this would happen, she would never have believed it. She, the Phantom of the Opera… who could have known such a change would take place?

One time, as they sat together, drying off from an hour of tumbling in the lake, she asked Erik if he thought of himself as a second Phantom, an additional Ghost.

"It hardly is fitting," he replied, "to call even _you_ a Phantom still. You do not haunt the shadows of the Opera."

"Not often above the ground, but I do live _here_," she replied, indicating their surroundings, "and so do you."

"Of course," he said, "and yet, this place has changed as well."

"_I_ have changed, Erik, and so have you. Such a change can only be expected."

In answer, he kissed her.

"I hope I am not interrupting…?"

The two sprang apart in surprise at the voice, although it was only Madame Giry. Christine had shown her a different way to the lair, a drier way, and she stood at that door now, her gaze lingering on Erik's face. Glancing up, Christine saw that his lips were smudged with what makeup had stayed on her face through their game in the water. Giggling slightly, she wiped it away and replied to the Madame, "Of course not, not a thing. Come in."

"There is very little time," Madame Giry said hastily, moving over to them quickly. "You must hear what I have to say."

Christine instantly became vibrantly aware as she sat up and gestured to another chair. The older woman sat down, and the young couple noticed how white her face was, and how her hands were shaking. Christine got up and knelt beside her, taking one of those hands, and was shocked at how cold she was.

"Dear Madame, what is it?"

"The managers were having a meeting with their patroness." She glanced quickly at Erik before she continued. "I was going by and heard you mentioned, so I stopped and hid to listen.

"You spend too much time with the Phantom," Christine said sardonically.

"Oddly enough, that is exactly what I thought," said Madame Giry, a quivering smile attempting to put itself on her face. "'You spend too much time around Christine, old girl,' I thought. I listened to the conversation within the office, and I found out…" She broke off, panting.

"What? You must tell us," Erik said urgently.

"Yes—of course. They, the managers, they are going to find Christine, and kill her!" The effort of this pronounced statement caused her to collapse back into the chair and put her hands to her heart.

Christine was not wearing her mask, and Erik saw her entire face blanch. She sat back, then, upon her heels, staring into the bare ground. After a moment of stillness, she looked back up at Erik and said, "So, that settles it."

"What?"

"We are going away," she replied stolidly.

"I would advise it, as soon as humanly—or Phantom-ly—possible," broke in Madame Giry, looking back to Christine with a slight glint in her eye. "I have a carriage, should you need one—ready to leave whenever you need it to."

"I think a carriage would be a fine idea," the Phantom said calmly, getting up. "Would ten minutes be sufficient, Madame?"

"The sooner, the better," she replied. "I shall ready my driver. Where would you think of going?"

Christine paused a moment, then said, "Somewhere far away."

"Do you think you are remembered by Ledoux?"

"Ledoux? How could he forget me?" Christine nodded. "Persia is quite sufficient. Ten minutes, then."

"Persia?" Erik said as Madame Giry left.

"Ledoux is part of the Secret Police of Persia. He saved my life, once. Oh, my dear," she said, catching his look, "there was nothing between us, trust me, other than companionship of comrades."

"I was not worried," he lied.

"Right. Now, help me. Pack some clothes, only an outfit, or two, into this bag. We can get more once we go to Persia. That is the best thing to do—it will be disguise." She tossed him a traveling bag of canvas and busied herself gathering up her music. There was little she wanted to take, really—her music, and her violin, and money to get them as far as Persia. She took a few of her favorite books and packed them as well. All this took less than five minutes, and she went into the bedroom to find Erik trying to fit half her wardrobe into the small sack.

"I said a few, Erik," she said kindly. "That does not mean six." She took out all but two of the dresses he'd packed, then put in two shirts and pairs of pants for him, as he stood by, looking sheepish. She made sure they were all very different and would not attract attention. The last thing, she retrieved her mask and cloak. She handed Erik a similar cloak.

"Pull the hood up when we get to the surface," she cautioned him before picking up one of the bags and her violin. "We must be unseen."

They waited a few moments in the shadows when they left the building for Madame Giry's cart to pull up. With their heads down and their eyes watching, they got in swiftly, and away they drove.


	13. A Chase and a Lie

Chapter 13—A Chase And A Lie

Uncounted of constant traveling later, Christine woke up suddenly. It had not been the jolting of the carriage, nor had anyone spoken to her. Madame Giry, who had stubbornly insisted upon accompanying them, and Erik, whose embrace she was curled into, were both asleep. With an uneasy feeling, she glanced out the window and tensed, awakening Erik.

"What is it?" he whispered.

"Look," she replied. They were passing by a gypsy show—_Cirque de Masque_— which Christine recognized. It had been the one she was part of, nearly fifteen years before. She told this to Erik, and he closed the curtains so no one could look in. Christine opened the small door on the roof of the car so the driver could hear her.

"Monsieur, get us away from here, quickly!"

"Right away, Ma'mselle." He swung the horses into a full gallop, and she closed the door and laid her head on her young love's chest. He stroked her hair tenderly.

"Don't worry, my sweet. No one will find you."

She sighed. "One would hope."

The new speed caused the woman next to her to awaken. She saw the drapes closed and Christine's worried look, and asked, "What happened?"

"We passed by the _Cirque de Masque,_" replied the girl simply.

Madame Giry had aided Christine in her escape. She had shown her the secret entrance to the tunnels below the Opera House, where she had been studying to become a ballerina. She knew how frightened the nine-year-old had been then, and now, nearing her mid-twenties, Christine still shuddered at any mention of the gypsies.

"Where are we?" Erik wondered.

Madame Giry drew the curtain back an inch and looked out. "Somewhere in Turkey, by the local dress. We're nearing Persia…" She stopped suddenly, watching the road behind them.

"What? What is it?" the young couple berated her.

"I think, my dears, that we are being followed."

"Followed? By whom?"

Madame Giry squinted a little. "I can't quite make it out, but it is a local-style carriage, and I think it may be the police."

"Not the Secret Police?" Christine asked anxiously, for that would be a good thing.

"I am sorry, Christine. From what I can see, it is the national law enforcement."

"Brilliant," said Erik, his face going pale. "Simply marvelous."

"My fault," claimed his lover. "They are after me."

"Never mind whose fault it is—they are following us. A moment…" Madame Giry stood and opened the window to talk to her driver. When she sat down again, there had been a change in pace. They had slowed down when they were past the gypsies, but the horses sped up again. They turned down several narrow, winding streets and even made a few complete changes in direction.

"I do not know how your people get their skills, but thank you, dear Madame!" said Christine gratefully.

"They are still following us," she replied nervously. "Perhaps we should try something else."

"A disguise?" suggested Erik.

"I have a veil or two in my bag," said Christine thoughtfully.

"I have a bit of stage makeup with me," Madame Giry added.

A few minutes later, the three had changed their appearances considerably. The women wore Christine's thick veils, and Erik had let his hair fall over his face, in contrast to its usual slickness. Christine had removed her telltale mask, and Madame Giry had doctored all their faces so that they could hardly recognize each other. The older woman told her driver to slow and let the police stop them. A Persian man got out, came to their window, and rapped sharply on it with his stick. Madame Giry opened the door and assumed a rickety British accent when she spoke to him.

"Good evening, sir, is there something we can do for you?"

The man flashed his lantern over the three of them almost carelessly. "May I ask your business in Diyarbakir, good lady?"

"I simply am escorting my daughter and her fiancé to Persia," she replied. "I assume that there is no law against it?"

The man looked at her suspiciously. "You need to get a new driver, if you do not mind me saying. He was driving all over."

"Yes, we have been having a bit of trouble with him," Christine broke in with a voice very different from her own but similar to the one her "mother" had. "We seem to have lost our way—would you please tell us how to get to Tabriz?"

They listened to his instructions and thanked him. Madame Giry made sure her driver had heard them, then closed the door and the curtain tightly. As the cart started again, Erik allowed himself his own means of showing appreciation to Christine.

Madame Giry watched them nearly smother each other, suppressing a smile at the memories of her own loves, years ago. She knew that her lie might well be called truth—the part about Erik and Christine's relationship, in any case. "You'll smudge your disguises, darlings," she cautioned them kindly, although she had to wonder if they even cared.

Christine pulled away slightly. "She's right, my love," she said to the man at her side. He gave her one last kiss, and restrained himself. Madame Giry shook her head, laughing to herself.

"What is funny?" asked Erik, with what was supposed to be a look of hurt on his face.

"Nothing."


	14. Three Cliffhangers

** b GASP An update! Many thanks to my until-recently updater for showing me how because she has too many AP classes! You all will hate me for this chapter...btw if ur wondering why I haven't answered reviews its NOT because of the "new rule". It is because I sent the WHOLE story to lilhobbitsparrow for some reason, but I love you all! EC FOREVER! /b **

**Chapter 14—Three Cliffhangers**

It seemed not long at all before they were in Persia. Christine gave the driver directions to the house of the daroga as the three passengers resumed their normal looks. She wondered if Ledoux would recognize her—for a fleeting instant. Although she had changed much, no one forgot her mask.

They pulled up before the large flat, and covered their faces as they got out. Madame Giry lingered for an instant, before Christine urged her to come and stay with them. They walked up to the door together, and the Phantom rang the resounding bell. A servant appeared.

"Is the daroga at home?" she asked. When the servant replied that he was, she said, "Tell him a friend from the rosy hours of Mazenderan has come again to meet him." They were asked to wait in the small vestibule just inside the door.

"What was that about?" Erik murmured in her ear.

"I shall tell you later," she replied.

When the daroga himself came out to meet them, he wore a wondering look. Christine lifted her veil just enough to show her mask, and he admitted them swiftly, glancing out the window behind them.

"Christine, my friend, need you a place to stay? For I have ample room."

"Indeed, daroga, we shall need two rooms, if you can. We must hide for a while, far from France. I am sorry if this is an intrusion, Ledoux…"

"Not at all—I understand. Come with me."

He led them to two extravagantly furnished guest rooms. Madame Giry took one, and Christine paused outside the open door of the second. She looked at the daroga, then at Erik.

"Erik, would you…?"

"Of course," he replied, understanding. "I'll unpack."

She was grateful to him, and gave him a swift kiss as she handed over the items that she carried. She followed Ledoux to his study and sat down as he bade her, accepting a glass of Tokay. She watched him, sipping the drink, waiting for him to ask his first question.

"Who is the boy?" it came.

"Erik," she replied. "My student, and…"

"Lover?" he finished, and a slight rosy tinge crept into her cheeks as she nodded. "How did you meet him?"

"Well, after you saved me and we parted, I went to France…"

It took her twenty minutes to tell the story in its entirety. The Persian listened silently throughout, and when she had finished, he said, "You have led an eventful life— Phantom."

"Yet, here I am," she replied, "not entirely unscathed, but living. And not in Hell, as I had anticipated."

"I see," he replied. "More Tokay?"

"No, I must go and speak with Erik. I have no doubt that he has questions." She rose with a slight bow to the daroga, then paused at the door and turned back. "Mum's the word, Ledoux." He nodded reassuringly, and she returned to her own room.

The door was shut. She opened it carefully and saw no one. Stepping inside, she called softly, "Erik? Where are you?" She heard nothing, and moved in further, letting the door swing shut behind her. "Erik?" She heard, then, swift footsteps behind her. Before she could turn, she experienced a searing blow across the back of her head. She fell, and knew nothing.

k

As soon as the door had closed when he first entered the room, Erik had felt the cold metal of a pistol jammed to the back of his neck. He had frozen, not daring to even drop his burdens until he heard an icy voice say, "Put the bags down."

He did so, considering his options. He, stupidly, was unarmed. He could see few items about the room that might serve him somehow. He decided simply to do as his apparent captor bid him, praying that he'd have a chance to warn Christine. However, when the door had opened to admit her, a hand had sealed his mouth violently.

"Not a word," the same voice hissed in his ear.

"Erik?" she called. He wanted to scream but dared not as a shadow appeared from behind the door and struck her down. He watched her fall, and his body involuntarily lunged toward her. The shadow came over and slapped him. Something touched his face, he smelled a keen odor, and he blacked out.

k

The man, called Giomo, released the limp boy unceremoniously. For an instant, he'd been afraid the stupid schoolboy would get away, but he had stopped him.

"Put them in the third cellar," came a cold command from the door. Giomo looked up and saw the owner of the house, the daroga, standing there.

"Yes, daroga," he muttered, groaning inwardly as he shouldered Daaé's limp body again. The Vicomtess was paying him enough—he could do it without complaint. At least, that was what he told himself as he made his way down the stairs.

Ledoux followed Giomo and his companion. He noticed their lack of elegance in handling their prisoners, particularly the girl. He winced as he saw them banged about on the long trip belowground.

He honestly felt bad. He had betrayed his friend. He told himself that he had done nothing directly, but he still felt ashamed. He hardly cared how much he was being paid, very different from Giomo. He shook his head sadly. What was done was done. Now he just had to think of a way to keep himself from dangling from a well-placed Punjab lasso. If she ever got out of this alive.

b Oooh, you all hate me now! Little Erik and Christine plushies to reviewers, with little magnets in their mouths so they kiss! AND CANDY! throws candy 3 reviews AT LEAST before the next update, so pass it on! b/ 


	15. The Corset

** b A/N: HIIIII! Hee hee hee...thank you to I Kill Stupid Fops for the best review in the world...gives u plushies You all hate me, I know, so here is your reward for the lovely reviews! HINT: check out the title. It will a) confuse the hell out of you, b) make you say wtf, or c) give away the ending...shuts up and smiles R&R! /b **

**Chapter 15—The Corset**

_ i "Here the sire may serve the dam…here the mistress takes her meat…_

_Here the sacrificial lamb…utters one despairing bleat…" /i _

Christine laid her head on her knees as she sang to herself quietly. She felt like a complete and total failure. She had been chained to the cement wall of the daroga's deepest cellar—a dungeon. She couldn't believe her old rescuer had deceived her so. Her song changed.

_ i "Curse you, you little lying betrayer, you little viper!_

_Now you cannot ever be free!_

_Damn you…curse you…" /i _

"Damn this heart that beats!" she cursed herself quietly. "Why, God, do you make i _him /i _ suffer?" She looked over to where she could see Erik, still unconscious, on the other side of the dungeons. "Take my life, but let him go!" She jerked her head back so it hit the wall with a sharp pain.

_ i "Masquerade! Paper faces on parade! Masquerade!_

_Hide your face, so the world will never find you!" /i _

"Christine?"

His voice was faint, but it gave her hope. "I am here, Erik!" His face turned toward her, and she saw a black bruise around one of his eyes, but he was alive.

"Christine, he betrayed us."

"I know," she said, close to tears. "I know he did."

"Please, love…don't kill him."

She blinked, startled. He knew her innermost emotions better than she did. "Why? Tell me why."

"You're already a murderer, Christine."

"It is rather difficult to be called a murderer if one does not kill a man now and again."

"Shut up."

Had that sharp, biting voice been Erik's? She had seen his mouth move, but it sounded so unlike him. Her mouth opened slightly, and he said again, "Shut up."

"Why?"

"Because," he said in the same tone, "you are always making jokes about matters like that. You laugh when the police are after you. If given the chance, I don't doubt that you would insult someone who had a gun at your throat. Why do you take things so lightly? What is there that is important to you?"

There was a slight pause of shock before she said, "Our love, Erik."

His look hardly changed. "Then why do you upset me with such things?"

"Because you never asked me to stop. If it bothers you, I shall not make my morbid jokes anymore. I would do anything to keep you loving me." She meant it with all her heart, and he knew it. He trusted Christine's word—she had only lied to him once, after all, about being an angel, and he could forgive her. The look she was giving him now told him that what she was saying was true. He nodded, and she spoke again.

"I've simply never expressed myself like other people, my love. I have crude humor—it is true. I feel that it can help. But I will restrain myself around you, unless absolutely necessary. I'm sorry."

His hand went out toward her in forgiveness, but the clanking manacles stopped him. She watched this and bit her lip, thinking.

"Any ideas, trap-door lover?" he asked listlessly.

She rested her head back on the stone, her breathing restricted by her position and her corset… i _the corset! /i _

Erik saw a sudden gleam in Christine's eyes as she sat up straight and reached around behind her. He watched her straining against the chains, and wondered what in the hell she thought she was doing. In a few minutes, she reached inside her dress and pulled out her corset. Now he was i _very /i _ confused.

"What the…?"

"Watch!" With a strong movement, she tore one of the seams and extracted a wire. She twisted it into a sufficient shape and began to pick the locks that encased her.

"You bloody genius!" he breathed. Who would have thought?

"There's always something," she replied as the last manacle dropped to the floor. She swiftly freed Erik, and he seized her into a passionate, grateful kiss. She pulled away after only a moment.

"There is no time! We must escape!"

"What about Madame Giry?"

"I know! We have to find her, then get out of here!"

"So let's go!"

With the aid of her corset wire, the two made their way through each of the cellars. They found the woozy, but awake, woman in one of them, then proceeded to search for a way out.

The daroga, never figuring that he would have a genius imprisoned in his dungeons, had left one secret passage, just in case. Christine, of course, found it, and it led directly to the stables. Madame Giry's driver was asleep, but they soon roused him, and fled desperately.

k

The Vicomtess slammed her fist down on the table. They had escaped her yet again! Damnation! She heaved an exasperated sigh. There was one last plan, but she hated it. This meant she would have to face that whore herself. She hated the thought of getting such dirt on her hands, and wondered if the reward was even worth it.

She decided she'd try this one last time. If she lost them yet again, she would go off and move somewhere far away to forget the whole thing. If she succeeded in taking Erik back, then she would make sure the Phantom suffered before she was killed. If Meg herself died…enough said. The bitch and her slave would walk off into the sunset together, and Meg's remains would rot alone.

She didn't care so much about Madame Giry anymore. She could be used, at best, against her will, to attract the Opera Ghost's attention. Meg didn't need that—she had spies following them, and would soon know where to meet them with her blade drawn.

"Little Erik thought of everything and nothing. His mother promised him she would send him the Angel of Music." She laughed dryly. He had gotten his wish. Now all she had to do was take his Angel away.


	16. Give Me the Strength to Try

**A/N: Oookaaay, here you go. You will hate me, I guarentee it. But I hate you, for not reviewing. That would be one reason why this is so late in coming. If you want the other, go look at "All The World".**

**POLL: Which do you guys want first, a prequal or sequal? I have both partially written, and I want to know which you want, future or past? It's mostly...actually, so far it's all Christine's past, but if you REVIEW then I will put little Erik in it as well...and so far the tally is all for a prequal.**

**Chapter 16—Give Me The Strength To Try **

Taking no chances, the three travelers had disguised themselves again and taken a different route. Because of their evasive trail, it took them nearly twice as long to get back to France. In Perros, where they stopped to get supplies, Christine urged Mame Giry to go on without them. She expressed her gratefulness to the woman, and eventually convinced her that it was for the best. She and Erik took a room in a lowly inn for a night, to rest properly and recover from the long, hard journey. She despaired, because their belongings had been left at the daroga's house, but Erik comforted her.

"At least we still have each other," he told her.

They lay in bed, and it was late. Christine needed to sleep, she knew, but she kept awakening, tense. Finally, Erik held her close and sang to her.

"_Say you love me every waking moment!_

_Turn my head with talk of summertime!_

_Say you need me with you, now and always!_

_Promise me that all you say is true!_

_That's all I ask of you."_

He felt her relax and her breathing become even. He kissed her gently, stroking her back. He had his own thoughts to be preoccupied with, however, and slept only fitfully. Finally, around dawn, they both awoke, still tired.

"I can't sleep like this anymore," he breathed to her.

"I cannot either," she replied, shaking her head.

"Christine?" Erik said tentatively. She looked up at him mildly and he continued, "Today marks the anniversary of my mother's death. She was buried here, in Perros."

"Would you like to go see her?"

"Yes. You'll come?"

"Of course." She kissed him lovingly before she rose from the bed. "Let's go now," she said, "right away."

It seemed not long at all before they were exiting their borrowed carriage and walking through the gates of the mausoleum. Erik's hand in Christine's trembled, and she put her other hand on his arm comfortingly.

"_In sleep she sang to me, in dreams she came,_

_That voice which calls to me, and speaks my name…"_

She could hear the sadness in his song. Somehow she didn't think he was singing of her anymore. She walked silently at his side and listened to his soft voice.

"_Little Erik thought of everything and nothing. _

_His mother promised him she would send him the Angel of Music. _

_His mother promised him…his mother promised him…_

_You were once my one companion, you were all that mattered._

_You were once a friend and mother, then my world was shattered._

_Wishing you were somehow here again—wishing you were somehow near._

_Sometimes it seemed, if I just dreamed, somehow you would be here!_

_Wishing I could hear your voice again, knowing that I never would._

_Dreaming of you won't help me to do all that you dreamed I could!_

_Passing bells and sculpted angels, cold and monumental,_

_Seem, for you, the wrong companions—you were warm and gentle."_

Erik had told Christine much of his mother. She felt that she had known her as well. Now, she could hear his voice weakening with his tears, and joined in, supporting him, encouraging him.

"_Too many years, fighting back tears! Why can't the past just die?_

_Wishing you were somehow here again, knowing we must say goodbye._

_Try to forgive, teach me to live, give me the strength to try!_

_No more memories, no more silent tears! _

_No more gazing across the wasted years!"_

She faded out for the last, dying lines of the song as they reached the tomb that was emblazoned, "DAAÉ."

"_Help me say goodbye…_

_Help me say goodbye…"_

Christine stood next to Erik on the cold stone steps of the tomb, staying as near to him as she could. His shoulders shook, and she felt a tear making a trail through the makeup on her cheek. She could not pray—she did not believe in prayer—but she sent her respectful requiem silently to the spirit of Madame Daaé. When her love's legs gave out and he collapsed to the ground in emotion, she was there to catch him and hold him until he slowly stopped shaking enough to stand again. He gazed up at his mother's sepulcher, leaning heavily on Christine's shoulder. Neither of them spoke or moved—the cemetery was silent. Then, a sudden, powerful, murderous voice filled the air.

"_Beneath the Opera House, I know she's there!_

_She hides above the stage—she's everywhere!_

_And when my suitor's gone, I always find,_

_The Phantom of the Opera is now his mastermind!"_

Erik was instantly alert and afraid. He knew that voice…he knew what it wanted. Christine did as well. She tugged on his hand.

"Erik, we have to get out of here!"

**Oooh...you all hate me now! I love cliffys...go ahead, flame me, Punjab me, do whatever. As long as I get my reviews.**


	17. Just a Memory

**A/N: All right, folks, prepare yourselves. deep breath**

**I HATE YOU ALL!**

**Well, not ALL of you. Just the ones that DON'T REVIEW!**

**Dod gammit, folks! Ye've only got this and the epilogue to go, now REVIEW OR ELSE!**

**Bulletin: I have OFFICIALLY FLAMED EVERY PERSON who READS and does not REVIEW!**

**-Erik: She's mad, folks. Review, or else Hell freezes over and Satan gives free sleigh rides. (Got that from Urkle, sorry.)-**

**NOW!**

**Also...I believe that there is...ONE more chapter after this...I'm going with the prequal. It's all Christine. But MAYBE...just MAYBE...if you SPAM my reveiws...MAYBE I will put little Erik in it.**

**But don't get too hopeful.**

**Chapter 17—Just A Memory**

They turned and walked as fast as they could. They panted, and her voice trailed nervously behind his.

"_This stalking patroness…"_

"_This hating enemy…"_

"…_who hunts to kill!"_

"…_who wants my death!"_

"_I can't escape from her…"_

"_This deadly voice we hear…"_

"_I never will!"_

"_With every breath!"_

Meg's hidden voice sounded again.

"_And on this battleground, where night is blind,_

_The Phantom of the Opera will have no place to hide!"_

The two hunted ones broke into a run for a fleeting instant before they were abruptly halted. Their hunter appeared in front of them. Christine pushed Erik behind her, shielding him with her own body. The Vicomtess wielded a glinting sword.

"We meet again, Phantom," she said quietly. "God, have you gotten even uglier since I last saw you?"

Christine's hand twitched. She had no weapon—sword, gun, or lasso—and cursed herself for it. She said nothing to her rival's comment as she forced the subject of their rivalry farther and farther back, giving herself room to dodge. She could feel him resisting, but was silently firm. This would be a fight to the death—between her and Meg. She would not let Erik be harmed.

Her commanding touch obliged him to stay far back from the Vicomtess. She moved forward, toward her foe and what might seem certain death. But her keen eyes were already searching out escapes and advantages—particularly the presence of a large tree nearby. The girl opposite her advanced as well, a sickly look of dead vengeance on her face. They stopped when they reached the center of their small battlefield, Christine just out of the reach of the gleaming blade.

"The time has come," Meg said, and struck out. Christine dodged aside, nearly losing her balance. She heard a cry from Erik as the weapon cut the air beside her. Backing up a step, Meg spoke again. "Did you think I didn't know how to use a rapier, creature?"

"You know what you're doing, I'll give you that," replied the 'creature.' "But I'll let you know one thing—there are always places for the Phantom of the Opera to hide!" With agility earned from navigating the darkest passageways and highest hidden causeways, Christine disappeared behind a headstone as Meg lunged again.

"Come out and fight me, coward!" the younger girl screamed. From above, Christine landed directly behind her and grabbed the hilt of the sword, knocking its owner to the ground. She waited as the disheveled Vicomtess slowly arose and turned to face her, unarmed.

Both advanced, but Christine was swift. She lurched out with a vicious backhand and placed a huge gash across her opponent's right cheek. Blood stained the ground. Snarling like a cat, Meg seized a rock from the ground and charged Christine. The stone came into contact with her sword hand, and the force of Meg's attack knocked her flat. The sword clattered away, and Meg stood above her with a pistol.

"Meg, no!" Erik screamed.

"Shut your mouth, you filth!" she replied.

"People will think you're insane if you talk to yourself," snapped Christine.

_Click!_ went the gun as it was cocked. Christine was entirely still, seeing her escape, waiting for Meg to draw near enough. Her hands had a firm grip, and her feet were stable. All she needed was a closer target.

"You're such a fool," Meg began.

"And you, ma'mselle?" Christine shot back.

She took another step. "Shut up, whore! That's all you are, a dirty, good-for-naught, murdering whore!"

"And you are a prostitute's brat."

The girl laughed cruelly. "It will be so easy to kill you, Phantom. You have no place to run." One more step…

She took it. Christine launched all of her energy into a kicking attack, hitting the Vicomtess's arm and sending the pistol flying. She leapt up into the tree, her right hand throbbing from the beating it had received, and tore off her scarf. She knotted it into a rough lasso, hoping she could throw it accurately.

Meg had been distracted by Christine's sudden motion, and hadn't seen where the Phantom had gone. She ran toward the trunk of the tree, with a shriek—just as the deadly loop dropped over her head, cutting off her air. Christine yanked hard on her end, hard enough to raise the girl from the ground, snapping her neck. She tied the loose end of the lasso to one of the tree's branches and leapt down, leaving the late noblewoman dangling.

Erik was bloodless white and shaking violently when she reached him. She put her good hand on his shoulder, looking into his eyes with concern.

"She's gone, Erik," Christine whispered gently. "She's just a memory."


	18. Anywhere You Go

**A/N: Wow...last chapter! cry (Erik: there there dear... me: sniffle, hug him) All right, I'm fine. THANK YOU for those of you that hopped on board at the last minute and reviewed your lives away! Hooray! So...here's the last bit...for now, anyway...**

**Chapter 18—Anywhere You Go**

"_Never dreamed out in the wild, there are arms to hold you!_

_You've always known your heart was on its own!"_

"Stop," said Christine, standing. "You're not hitting the high notes."

"I'm trying, Christine!" Erik whined. She went to him.

"Stand up straight." He obeyed. She placed a hand on his abdomen. "You must pretend that there is a fire here, and the fire creates your voice, like smoke. The smoke must travel from here—" she moved her hand up his torso and face in a straight line until it reached the top of his head, "—to here. And it must come off the top and billow away. Think of yourself as a chimney. Try again."

He repeated the line to her satisfaction. When he finished the song, he smiled at her. "You are a visual teacher."

"Only the best, darling," she replied, grinning back.

He cocked his head at her. "May I kiss you?"

"Since when must you ask?" she laughed. He swept her into his arms and smothered her with his lips, lightly but burning with pleasure all the same. He had a plan, and he hoped that it would work smoothly. When he pulled away, she touched his face, asking for more, but he shook his head. She looked at him, wondering, and he took her hands.

"You must face your fate, Christine," he said.

"What do you mean?"

He knelt before her and brought a gold ring from his pocket. "An eternity of this before your eyes!"

A look of absolute ecstasy spread over her face. She sank down to his level and pulled him to her, kissing him over and over. In the midst of it, she breathed, "You know I will!" He pulled away long enough to slip the ring onto her fourth finger, then surrendered to her with his entire body and mind.

k

The wedding was small. Madame Giry attended, as did her son, Raoul, who had been Erik's friend from the Opera's chorus. Christine had met the young man, but never for long. She worried slightly because he had never seen her unmasked, but Mame Giry, who was helping her get ready, reassured her. She would not be wearing the mask—she almost never wore it in her home nowadays—but would instead wear the traditional white veil, which Erik would lift when they sealed their promise. They had each written their own vows, and Christine had gone through many revisions to get exactly what she wanted to say.

She was dressed in a stunning gown, which was not white but deep red, and cut to exactly fit her frame. There were roses in her hair, the same color as her dress, and she held a similar one in her hand. It was tied with her signature black ribbon.

"Do not worry, dear," said Madame Giry soothingly. "All will be well."

Christine could not help but agree. With a deep breath, she drew the veil over her face and exited the room gracefully.

She could see Erik, waiting for her in front of the organ. He looked dashingly handsome in his black suit, and he bowed smoothly as she reached him. She took his hand, and began to recite her written vow.

"My beloved Erik, from the moment I saw you, heard your voice, I knew I loved you. I saw the pain you had endured at such a young age, and heard you cry out for the Angel of Music to save you. I called myself an Angel for you, and only you. It was you who brought light into my world of darkness. You are my love and my Angel of Music, and no one else can help me make the Music of the Night. I love you."

He smiled and began his pledge.

"Christine, my darling, I hardly can say I have any of the eloquence that you possess, but I must say this—when I first heard you call to me in my sleep, I believed with all my heart that you were the Angel I had dreamed of all my life. When I had your lessons, I became greater than I ever could have imagined. The night you brought me down to your home, I touched you and knew that I could never feel the same again. So, to others, you may be the Phantom of the Opera, but to me, you will always be the Angel of Music, and nothing makes me prouder than to give myself to you. I love you."

He reached up and pulled her veil back from her face as their voices became one.

"_Anywhere you go, let me go too!_

_Love me, that's all I ask of you!"_

And as they kissed, all the pains of their pasts melted away. They knew there was a future, and they faced it dead on.

**The End?**

—O. G.

**A/N: YAAAY! They're happy! NOTICE the question mark after "the end"! THAT MEANS MORE! (Erik: calm down!) okay. THANK YOU ALL! **

**Now, to turn off the caps lock!**

**Be on the lookout for the PREQUAL! "The True Opera Ghost - Prelude"**

**IT WILL BE POSTED SOON!**

**Once again, thanks a million. I never thought I'd break 50 reviews, and here I am at 53! I LOVE you guys!**

**And now, for my final thought:**

_**Some people leave you halfway through the woods,**_

_**But do not let it grieve you - no one leaves for good.**_

**_-_Into the Woods**

**Thanks and goodnight!**


	19. Author's Note

HAHAHA!

The prequal is officially up, pholks! Check it out!

"The True Opera Ghost: Prelude"

I LOVE ALL OF YOU THAT REVIEWED AND HATE ALL OF YOU THAT DIDN'T!

E/C FOREVER!


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